“I have to do my share. Just as Will did.”
“Yer Will worked hard for this place. For ye. Thomas Charlton should respect that instead of selling—” She stopped suddenly.
“What have you heard?” Kimbra asked.
“Cedric and several others are fighting to wed ye.”
“He was here three days ago. I feared he would return, but he has not.”
“He is gone. He and others have gone after the few Scots who survived.”
“How many lived?”
“I do not know, but there is a bounty for Scots. They are picking up occasional stragglers and turning them over to the crown, which is executing them.”
Horrified, Kimbra could only stare at her. “But there could be ransoms.”
“I hear a few have taken highborn Scots for ransom, but the Charlton wants to appease the warden. There have been accusations that the Charltons did not do their fair share in the battle. He would not risk disobeying now.”
Kimbra did not doubt that at all. The Charltons were brave enough when enriching themselves, but they saw little reason to risk life and horse for the English king.
Kimbra knew the Charlton family was ruthless, that they had little regard for life. She suspected they killed some of the wounded in the aftermath of the great battle. She would have suspected it of Cedric readily enough, but not of Thomas Charlton, who talked much about the honor of the borderers.
Her stomach sinking, Kimbra invited Jane inside, knowing not to do so would raise suspicions, all the time wondering how much longer she could keep the Scot’s presence a secret. She might well need help. Could Jane provide it?
Jane glanced down at Audra sleeping on the hearth. “Ye must tell her I came to see her.”
“I will,” Kimbra said, then offered some ale and fresh bread she’d just baked, along with butter she’d churned.
“Do you know when the men will return?”
Jane shook her head.
“Is the Charlton at the peel tower?”
“Aye, ’tis getting more and more difficult for him to ride.”
“I may need to see him.”
“Take him some of your bay leaves.”
“He has his own physician.”
“He is not helping, by all I hear.”
Kimbra considered the words. Perhaps that would be a way to approach Thomas Charlton, the head of the family. He held no official rank. He was no baron or earl or duke. But he ruled the family and had the respect of the border families.
“I will take over the bay leaves,” she said. She fetched some that Audra had picked earlier in the day and tied them in a piece of cloth. “These are for you. And take a loaf of bread.”
She realized she was almost shoving her friend out the door.
After Jane left, she leaned against the door. She’d almost told Jane about her Scot until her friend explained the Charlton order to turn any over to the crown.
She would not be able to go through Thomas Charlton for ransom.
And if anyone discovered who he was, her Scot would die.
She couldn’t bear that. Not after all the hours she’d spent trying to save him.
But what now?
She did not see too many choices.
She could get him well, then help him escape from here and hope that he might be grateful enough to send her some money.
But if anyone discovered that she harbored an enemy, she could be killed and Audra orphaned.
How long could she keep his presence a secret?
And how important was his life compared with her daughter’s? She had to think of Audra first. Even a heavy ransom or reward would not justify the chances she was taking.
She fully realized now what a dilemma she had created for herself. She had no idea how to solve it.
Chapter 6
Inverleith, Scotland
Rory prepared a troop to head south to search for his brother. Archibald, his captain of the guard, would accompany him. Douglas, his steward, would stay and protect the castle. And Rory’s wife.
It had taken him several days to call in what few men were available. So many had gone with Lachlan.
In those few days, he’d also delivered food and seed to those crofters who’d lost their men. He’d mourned with widows and their children and reassured them that they would always have a place at Inverleith. The most difficult visit was to Hector’s wife, Fiona, who was now probably a widow. Hector, with Archibald Maclean, had led Maclean forces for thirty years. Hector had left with Lachlan, and Archibald—who was nearing sixty years—had stayed at Inverleith to train more Macleans for battle.
Hector had been as much a father to Rory as his own had been.
“I will look for Hector on the border,” he told Fiona, “as well as for Lachlan and Jamie.”
“God bless you,” Fiona said. “I knew you would no’ leave him there.”
“I canna promise anything. Only that I will try to find your husband, but failing that, you will be cared for all your days.”
Then he and Felicia visited Dunstaffnage, the stronghold of the Campbells and home to Jamie and Janet Campbell. He half expected the old chief, Angus, to have returned, but he had not. He surely, though, had heard about the defeat.
Someone had evidently seen them coming, because the gate was up, Janet standing just inside. Felicia slid from her horse and embraced Janet. Not only was Janet her cousin by marriage, but they were very good friends. One of their joint adventures, in truth, had led him to Felicia. For that reason alone, he’d always had a soft spot for Janet.
The sorrow on her face told Rory that she had heard news of the defeat.
“Have you heard anything of Jamie?” Felicia asked.
“Nay. His father said that King James had been killed and most of the army destroyed.” Her lips quivered slightly. “I know so many who went, and Jamie . . . and Lachlan . . .” She stopped. “Have you heard anything? Is there any news of Lachlan?”
Felicia shook her head.
“I am so sorry,” Janet said. “Come in and eat with me. I can barely stand being alone.”
Rory and Felicia followed her into the great hall, then into a small, intimate room.
“I have news,” Janet said after asking a servant to bring them refreshments. “I am with child.”
Felicia hugged her again. “How long have you known?”
“I knew before Jamie left, but I did not wish to worry him. Now . . .”
“He’ll be back. So will Lachlan,” Felicia said.
Rory wished he had the same confidence. He had taken the messenger aside and had heard that at least thirteen Scottish earls were dead, as were more than fifteen lords and many clan chiefs, along with thousands of Scottish soldiers. Lachlan would be back by now, if he had survived, or at least sent word. Jamie as well.
“Does Angus know about the child?”
“Aye, and I hope it gives him some peace. He never showed it much, but he loves Jamie dearly.”
“Will he return here?”
“I think not. He says the vultures are swarming around little James V. He fears to leave the queen and lad.”
“Not much more than one year old, and Margaret, God keep her safe, is no match for the power hungry,” Rory said.
“She loved the king so. She must be devastated.” Janet’s hand went to her stomach, to the child inside.
“Perhaps you should travel to Edinburgh and have your bairn there,” Felicia suggested.
“I will wait here,” Janet replied. “I want to be here if . . . when . . . Jamie returns.”
They ate and exchanged what little they knew about the battle. None of it boded well for Scotland or their families. “’Twas said that Lord Home turned and ran,” Felicia said.
“If true, he will live his days paying for it,” Rory said grimly.
“Will the English come north?” Janet asked.
Rory noted how hard she was trying to maintain her composure. She had a quiet dignity, but her eyes
glittered with unshed tears.
“Nay, I doubt it. They had many killed as well, and much of their army is in France.”
Rory and Felicia lingered another hour longer, then had to leave. It would be a long journey back to Inverleith.
They were quiet most of the way back. As they approached the walls, Rory turned to his wife, and her eyes met his. They knew each other so well now that words were often unnecessary between him.
“Find them,” she said.
“I will.” And he would if it took his own life. Lachlan had gone in his stead. The least Rory could do was to bring him home.
KIMBRA continued to instruct her Scot in speech. She was astounded at how quickly he lost his dialect and remembered the English turns of phrase when he could not remember anything about his past.
She was equally as startled at how she responded to him as she wrapped his chest tightly to ease the pain and changed the bandages on the leg that still barely held him. Her heart jolted when he looked at her, and heat sparked in her every time she touched him.
At the same time, she knew how much danger they were all in. Even if there had not been orders to kill all Scots, her hopes of ransom had faded. He remembered no more today than he had the day she’d found him. And he could not yet leave. His leg would not hold him more than several steps, and that with the crutch she’d made. He had no money, no horse, no memory.
She had outwitted herself. In thinking to reap a financial benefit, she found herself responsible for someone who had no value and could bring disaster upon herself and Audra.
She could ask him to leave. He would. But where would he go? How would he survive in hostile England? She would have to find a way to get him across the border.
But if she could transform him from noble into an English borderer, mayhap she could save all three of them. With time, he could walk again and start back to Scotland where someone would recognize him.
But he would not be strong enough for several weeks.
She finally reached a decision. Every moment he spent at her home without the knowledge of the Charlton was dangerous. She would tell the Charlton that she found him just two days ago, that he was an English borderer of the Howard family.
She told the Scot what she planned, asked if he could carry the ruse.
“I will try.”
“You will have to be a bastard, banished by your family, and thus you became a soldier. That way no one will wonder why you are not sending word to someone.”
“You have a devious mind, mistress.”
“Ah . . . be careful when you talk. No borderer would say that.” She should have been offended but she was not. She wanted to be mistress of her fate, and if it took deviousness, then so be it.
“Aye,” he agreed. “I would not want harm to come to you—”
“Then you must always think before you talk.” She softened her tone. “In several weeks you can leave.”
“I thought you wanted to claim a ransom,” he countered, now not entirely sure he wanted to leave.
“It is too dangerous for you now. The king has ordered all Scots killed.”
He stared at her. “And still you care for me?”
“Only until you are well enough to go.”
“Where?” he said in a voice that made her heart cry.
“To Scotland. Your clothes were very fine. You must come from a wealthy family, probably a noble one. In Edinburgh someone will know you.” She paused. “You probably have a wife and children.”
She watched his eyes and saw something flicker there. Because he had remembered something, or had he merely considered the possibility?
She hesitated. What if the wrong word slipped accidentally from his mouth? She was going to tell the Charlton that he’d had a bad head wound and his thoughts were addled at times. She told the Scot that he should say he was from the southern border, a place far enough away that he would not have met any Charltons but close enough to Scotland to share a common speech.
“I do not think I have children. Or a wife,” he said.
“Why?”
“Surely I would have some memory. Some token.”
She said nothing. She suddenly realized she didn’t want him to have a wife—and that frightened her. She shouldn’t care. She should care about naught but a reward. And her own child’s safety.
Especially since he would have naught to do with a border reiver’s widow once he regained his former life. He was obviously educated, and she could not even read. Yet she felt the same spark in him she felt in herself, saw the way his eyes followed her, and how they softened when his gaze met hers.
“I must go,” she said. “I may well have company on the return.”
“Audra?”
“She goes with me. I could not leave her alone.”
“She would not be alone with Bear and me.”
“You could not protect yourself, much less her.”
She saw the light leave his eyes. “You are right, of course.”
She wanted to lean over and touch him, reassure him. He was a warrior. His wounds proved that. He went down with his king, fighting to the end. But to touch him would be to cross that barrier she’d tried to build.
“I will be back shortly,” she said, then stepped outside.
She prayed she was right.
HOMAS Charlton—the Charlton—was sitting in a chair, one leg up on a padded stool. The leg looked twice its normal size.
“Mistress Kimbra, how kind of ye to stop in and see an old man.”
“Posh. You will never be old.”
“Flatterer.”
“I brought some bay leaves. A good hot drink should help your legs.”
“Now that is very kind of ye.”
“And to tell you something.”
He simply nodded his head and waited.
“I found an Englishman near my cottage three days ago. He was very badly wounded. I got him inside, but he had a terrible fever, and I did not feel I could leave him.”
“English, ye say?”
“Aye, he wears border clothes and says he is a Howard.”
“He is one of ours, then, and ye did the right thing. He should be moved here. There will be talk if he stays with ye.”
“There is always talk.”
“Aye, but it is time for ye to marry again. I have been approached by several men.”
“Cedric said you favored him.”
“Did he now?” he said. “I do not believe I expressed that thought, only that I felt it time you wed again.”
“It is my choice then?”
“Unless ye wait too long. There is grumbling that ye are favored over others, that the cottage should go to a fighting man and his family.”
“Will was loyal to you,” she protested.
“Aye, he was, and that is why I have not pressed ye, but I cannot and will not wait much longer. It is a distraction to my soldiers, and distractions are never good. And they may not approve of a man living in your cottage out of wedlock.”
“He is very ill.”
“I will drink your bay leaves tonight,” he said, “and ride over to see your Englishman in the morn, if possible. I will decide for myself where he should go.”
She nodded, knowing she had done all she could, and any more protestations might well anger him. Thomas Charlton was not known as a patient man.
She curtsied to him and fled.
She had received more than she had hoped. Now if only the Scot could do his part.
Kimbra collected Audra, who had been waiting outside, her hands primly crossed in her lap. She sensed the importance of the occasion.
She looked up with worried eyes, and Kimbra realized her own apprehension had transferred to her daughter. “Everything is perfectly fine,” she said.
“Then Mr. Howard can stay?”
“A few days. No more.”
“I like him. So does Bear.”
“He has to go to his own family.”
Audra’s lips tremble
d. “I do not want him to go.”
“He probably has children just like you,” she said as she led her daughter outside. It was a long walk, but she’d feared that someone might have tried to claim Magnus if she had ridden him.
She found herself hurrying. She’d hated to leave the Scot by himself. Audra was lagging behind, and Kimbra picked her up and started to carry her. For some reason, apprehension crawled up her spine.
She walked even faster.
E used her crutch to walk. Every step required every ounce of strength he had. His chest both burned and ached. His leg would barely hold him.
He had struggled to his feet after the woman and child left.
He would not put them in danger. He would go into the woods and rest, then try to make it to the border. She must be right. Someone beyond the border would know him, recognize him.
And she would not regret helping him. He would make sure she was amply rewarded.
He knew he had to leave, even though a voice deep inside him told him he belonged here, or at least with Mistress Charlton and her young lass.
Kimbra felt it, too. He knew that. Which was why he had to leave until he could discover who and what he was. He was drawn to her, but what if he had a family of his own? He would not dishonor someone who had helped him, and he knew every day he stayed could lead to exactly that.
Yet where would he go?
North. The day was cloudy. He had no idea which direction was north.
Bear followed him, as though it was his job to protect him. He tried several times to send him back, but the infernal dog refused to heed him.
His clothes felt unfamiliar, and he regretted the necessity of taking them. They did not belong to him; he felt that to his bone. He wondered whether he would have felt that before his head injury. Had he been a just man as well as a warrior?
He stumbled, the pain in his leg crippling him. His chest was a fiery inferno. How long had he been gone, and how far had he come? Not far, yet he could not see the cottage, and trees were closing in around him. He prayed he was going in the right direction.
He took several more steps, then found a fallen log to sit on. He knew if he went all the way to the ground, he could not rise again. But he had to rest.
Beloved Stranger Page 7
